


Just a Job

by FancyMeetingYouHere



Series: The Bodyguard [2]
Category: GOT7
Genre: Domestic, Fluff, I love kid BamBam, I tried to make the Markson low-key but failed, Ice-cream outing, Jackson's confused too, Mark's confused, So does everyone else, hints of markson, oh well
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-12
Updated: 2020-02-12
Packaged: 2021-02-28 06:40:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,305
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22679602
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FancyMeetingYouHere/pseuds/FancyMeetingYouHere
Summary: BamBam's excited about ice-cream, Jackson becomes more and more human, and Mark is dragged along for the ride. Not that he minds. It's all just part of his job, right?Or, Jackson takes his son and his son's personal guard out on a dubious ice-cream outing and Mark likes to mess around with people in high positions.It's all fine.
Series: The Bodyguard [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1631491
Comments: 17
Kudos: 69





	Just a Job

“Tuan! Tuan!” BamBam comes flying around the corner, socked feet slipping on the hallway’s hardwood floor, even before Mark can close the front door. It’s eight in the morning and BamBam’s already hyper.

“Slow down,” Mark grins, hardly able to admonish the boy for real when BamBam’s beaming like _that._ “What’s got you all worked up?”

BamBam stands, vibrating with energy and quite literally bouncing in place. “Dad’s gonna take us to the park for ice-cream!” He yells, throwing out his arms and twirling in place, almost stumbling into the wall before Mark throws out a steadying hand on automatic. He’s learned that BamBam doesn’t do _standing still._ Then he blinks.

“’Us’?” he repeats, confused.

“Yes!” BamBam keeps going. He grabs Mark’s arm before the man can pull it back and yanks on it as he keeps bouncing, laughter trickling out between his words. “He’s gonna take us to the park! We’re gonna go to the park and get ice-cream!”

An unfamiliar high-pitched laugh comes from the living room, but Mark knows who it belongs to anyway. He smiles in surprise and perhaps a little disbelief when Jackson shouts.

“Tuan might not be an ice-cream addict like you, Bammie! Go easy on him!”

“No,” BamBam gasps, eyes wide and mouth agape. His face looks so comically betrayed at the thought of Mark not loving ice-cream that Mark doesn’t even _try_ to wipe the smile off his face.

“You don’t like _ice-cream?”_ BamBam steps back and crosses his arms, expression still wide-eyed and shocked.

Mark honest to god _giggles_ (damn this boy and his adorable pout) and kneels. He lets his expression fall into one of solemn resignation and says. “I’m allergic to ice-cream.”

BamBam jumps in shock, hands flying to his mouth as he gasps. A muffled laugh makes Mark look up in time to see Jackson fleeing back into the living room, shoulders shaking with repressed chuckles.

Mark almost loses his cool, then BamBam grabs his face in both of his tiny hands and says seriously with the biggest of shining eyes. “Can you eat waffles?”

It’s too much. Mark breaks out into a guilty smile and BamBam stomps his foot, expression betrayed.

“You’re tricking me!” He yells, arms back to being crossed and lips in a pout. Mark curbs his obvious joy and pats BamBam’s head to the boy’s annoyance.

“You had that coming,” Mark teases. “Remember when you told me you were allergic to peanuts after you just ate a peanut butter sandwich?” He gives BamBam a meaningful stare and sees the sneaky devil grin with red cheeks.

“You drove so fast!” BamBam chuckles, previous anger already forgotten. He sighs dramatically, putting a hand on his forehead. “Yeah, that was one of my masterpieces.”

Mark grimaces as he remembers as well; remembers nearly having a heart attack as he sped BamBam to the hospital only for the boy to break out into uncontrollable giggles halfway there. He pokes BamBam in the ribs. “It was memorable, alright.” He stands back up, grinning when BamBam huffs out a breath and rolls his eyes.

“It was a good prank, Tuan. One of my best.” BamBam glares with all his eight-year-old glory, and Mark bites his lip _hard_ to stop from giggling again.

“You can’t go around stealing pranks, you know.” BamBam admonishes to Mark’s utter delight. “It’s bad manners.”

“Oh, I’d listen to him,” Jackson speaks up from the doorway, surprising Mark and making him whip his head up. The man is leaning against the doorway, arms crossed and face fighting a smile.

“There’s no one on this world as well versed in prank-etiquette as BamBam.” His twinkling eyes belie his serious tone, and Mark can’t help his huff of laughter when BamBam turns to his father and deadpans.

“That’s because I have style, dad.”

Jackson shakes his head with a smile as he bends down and ruffles BamBam’s hair with one hand. “Well, _next time_ , you can show of your style _without_ braiding all of my ties together.”

Mark snorts even as Jackson sends him a betrayed glare.

Mark shrugs, unapologetic. _That’s classic._

BamBam lets out a long sigh, swatting at Jackson’s hand. “Why does no one appreciate my brilliance?”

With an aborted snort, Jackson looks at Mark. He mouths ‘brilliance’ with an eyeroll, a clear can-you-believe-this-kid. Equally as silent Mark quirks one eyebrow at Jackson and then nods at BamBam.

_He’s your kid._

Jackson has the decency to look busted.

“Ugh,” BamBam groans, head thrown back. “Can you _not._ I don’t have your adult telepathy.”

Jackson blinks rapidly, confused eyes once more on BamBam. “Telepathy?” He throws a questioning look at Mark who shrugs. Jackson only looks more confused.

BamBam blows out a breath. “Right.” Then he turns and stomps down the hallway towards his room.

Mark has zero clue what just happened. “BamBam?” He yells at the same time as Jackson says.

“Front door’s this way, buddy!”

“I need to change!” BamBam throws over his shoulder. “This is my school-day outfit, I need a day-at-the-park-with-ice-cream outfit!” With that he turns the corner, leaving Mark and Jackson in a sudden silence.

Jackson breaks it by clearing his throat, a hand scratching his head. “You’re not _required_ to come,” he explains softly, eyes apologetic as he looks at Mark. “I just found myself with a morning off and BamBam’s been wanting to go to the park for weeks and- well, he got excited about showing you his favorite spots.” The man admits with a tight-lipped smile. Then he adds with a small grimace. “Though I’d honestly feel better with you there considering … you know.”

Mark does indeed know, and almost answers with his generic ‘I go where you tell me’, but stops short at the open look on Jackson’s face. For someone seemingly untouchable when being Mr Jackson Wang, the man wears his heart on his sleeve when it comes to his son. Besides, it’s not like Mark _minds._ Guarding BamBam has become his life to the point where he honestly wouldn’t know what to do with himself if he _didn’t_ spend most of the day glued to the kid’s side. He can handle third-wheeling on a park-outing. Mark gives him a calm nod. “It’s okay,” he assures, “I know how BamBam can get. Besides, I actually do like ice-cream.”

Jackson barks out another high laugh, smile stretching for real. It’s a surprisingly domestic sight. Mark quirks up one end of his mouth.

“I am afraid you’re a tad over-dressed for ice-cream in the park though,” Jackson chuckles, eyes crescent shaped as he points at Mark’s standard black suit/white shirt combo. He’s right, and Mark eyes Jackson’s jeans and brown sweater with something akin to jealousy. Then he smirks.

“I suppose I could go change.”

He loves how Jackson’s expression goes dumbfounded. “What?”

“See you in a bit,” Mark grins, then adds a little wave for effect. Messing around with Jackson is almost as much fun as messing around with security. He closes the front door on Jackson’s shocked face and his frantic ‘wait!’, then bolts down the steps. He’s just slammed the back door of his car shut when Jackson opens the front door of the house.

“Tuan!” he yells, still hopping into his boots. “You don’t have to _leave!”_

Mark cackles, joy spilling out at seeing _Jackson Wang_ hopping in place. He quickly pushes the middle part of the backseat’s back down, revealing the hidden compartment in his trunk. To the right, he fishes out a clear packet of mundane clothes he keeps there for emergencies. It’s a pair of ripped jeans, a white T-shirt, and a grey sweater; it’ll do the trick.

He's shimmied out of his pants before Jackson has made it halfway down the steps, and the man stops at the bottom, face confused. Mark’s car has tinted windows, and while he can see Jackson, the other _can’t_ see him.

“Tuan? Where are you?”

Re-dressing in the back of a car becomes somewhat easier when you’ve done it over a hundred times (and you’re not bleeding or sporting broken bones), but Mark still needs some time to get every appendage in the appropriate holes. It’s enough time for Jackson to do a twirl in confusion, and then slowly walk up to the car that’s decidedly _not_ about to take off. He starts to crane his head, zeroing in on the windshield which is arguably the only part of the car he has any chance of seeing through.

“Tuan?” He ventures carefully. “Are you in there?”

Mark thinks he _maybe_ likes teasing Jackson a bit too much, but the man seems untouchable in every aspect of the media. The chance to see him cautiously approach a car with an expression making it clear he thinks the inanimate object might sprout fangs and attack him, is too good to pass up. He bites his lip to keep from laughing again.

Jackson keeps edging closer, quite literally going inch by inch, and Mark quickly slips into the sneakers he keeps in a separate bag, then puts his suit and boots in the hidden compartment, snaps the back of the seat into place again, and, purely as a spur-of-the-moment thing, leans into the front to press the car horn.

Hearing Jackson’s screech is almost as funny as seeing the grown man jump into the air like a cat catching sight of a cucumber. Mark’s in stitches, dragging himself back into the backseat and needing a few seconds to get his laughter under control. It’s quite possible anyone else doing what he just did to their employer would be fired on the spot, but the thought doesn’t even make it into Mark’s brain. He glances outside to see Jackson holding his heart, face betrayed as he glares at the car. It’s ridiculous how cute he looks and Mark chalks it up to Jackson and BamBam being related. After one more deep breath, and certain he’s chuckle-free, Mark rights himself and smoothly steps out of the car.

Jackson flinches, then glares, then his mouth drops as he eyes Mark’s outfit. “How- you- where did-” He cuts off his frantic stammering and frowns, then glances at the car. “What the hell else are you hiding in there?”

With a fond shake of his head, Mark closes the door, leaning against his car and giving Jackson a cool stare. “It’s a change of clothes, sir. Not really _that_ strange in my line of work.”

Jackson raises an eyebrow, obviously trying to salvage his damaged pride. “You often use your car as a glorified dressing room?”

Mark smiles a little painfully. “More often than you’d think.”

He’s unsure why Jackson looks flustered at that, but they’re saved from their awkward silence by the front door opening, BamBam’s annoyed voice ringing out. “You guys could have _waited_ , you know.” Then he spots Mark and beams. “You also put on park-clothes!”

For some reason Jackson thinks the comment to be hilarious and the man doubles, laughter ringing out with an unexpected ease. It throws Mark for a beat and then he’s opening the car door again, focusing on BamBam. He flashes the boy a smile. “I had something lying around.”

They make it to the park with the guidance of BamBam, the boy joyfully giving Mark directions. A few times, Jackson had to gently correct him before they ended up going in circles, but Mark drove with a smile on his face and BamBam’s happy voice ringing in his ears; it was one of the best car rides he’s had in years.

Once they’re actually in the park, they’re surprised by the amount of people. The weather is admittedly warm for early March, (Jackson and Mark both opted for no jacket, though BamBam refuses to take his off even though he’s warm because it 'goes with the ensemble') but it’s still only nine in the morning. There are a great deal of joggers and people walking their dogs. BamBam appears to be the only kid his age, which is logical because it’s a school day. Not that BamBam cares. He’s much too busy dragging Mark by the sweater and pointing out all of his favorite places. It basically comes down to the entire park.

“And that’s where I fell when dad and I went skating last summer.” BamBam points to a path through the trees some twenty meters away. “I hurt my knees, but nothing too bad, and dad got me ice-cream afterward.” He continues upbeat, already tugging Mark to their next spot. It’s a guided tour provided by BamBam of everything he ever did between where they parked the car and the eventual ice-cream shop in the middle of the park. Mark’s surprised by how much he’s enjoying it. BamBam’s hand has a death grip on his sleeve, the oversized hoodie constantly in danger of slipping down Mark’s shoulder, but he couldn’t care less.

A muffled chuckle behind him has him craning his neck to see Jackson hiding his smile behind his hand. Mark grimaces.

‘Sorry’ he mouths, trying to look apologetic. As much as he loves BamBam dragging him around, he didn’t mean to intrude on their father and son time _this_ much. Jackson only shrugs, eyes crescent shaped and smile still hidden.

BamBam yanks Mark’s arm _hard_ before he can figure out why he’s still staring at Jackson’s face.

“There it is!” the boy shouts, smile wide. It’s indeed small, but Mark is once again surprised by the amount of people inside. The building is a circle with a small terrace. The front part of the shop has windows for walls, the rest is stone colored a bright white with looping curls of blue. From what Mark can see, the inside is all small round tables and pastel colors. The roof is pointed and also blue, giving off the impression of a weird mushroom, or something straight out of a fairy tale. BamBam’s running now, meaning Mark’s doing a strange half-jog to keep up.

“Last one inside has to pay!” BamBam shouts jovially, just before he rushes the door, still pulling Mark along. There’s a disbelieving laugh from behind them, and suddenly Mark can’t help but play along. There’s something infectious about BamBam and Jackson being BamBam and Jackson instead of Kunpimook Bhuwakul Wang and Mr Jackson Wang. Be it the change of scenery, BamBam’s squeals, or the fact Mark’s not in his usual ‘uniform’, a bubble of mischief climbs up and he scoops BamBam up over his shoulder. The boy lets out peals of laughter as Mark quickly hip-checks the glass door closed in Jackson’s shocked face. Mark grins at him, almost sticks out his tongue for good measure, but BamBam’s squirming and Mark needs to put him down before he drops him.

Only then Mark notices the other twenty people in the shop giving them strange looks and the bubble bursts. He groans on the inside; so much for low profile. Messing around with Jackson in private is one thing, but in a public setting it’s _dangerous_. Mark’s been hired to do a job, and he just gave a ten-second window to anyone seeking to do BamBam harm. That’s unacceptable.

BamBam doesn’t seem to care. He _does_ stick out a cheeky tip of the tongue when Jackson finally steps inside. The little bell above the door jingles (Mark may have missed that during his little stunt, which only goes to show how badly distracted he just became) and the conversations all around go back to not caring about them.

“You lost,” BamBam says angelically to Jackson and the man in question crosses his arms.

“I call a re-match. That was foul-play.” He glares at Mark, but it’s barely luke-warm and the edges of his mouth are trembling with a repressed smile. Mark stops himself from smiling back. Instead, he stuffs his hands in his pants and silently berates himself. He’s still the guard here, supposed to be a _professional_ , and that just got _way_ out of hand. He clears his throat, almost tasting the cookies and waffles with how strong the scent is inside and cocks his head at the counter.

“How about we order first?”

BamBam doesn’t need to be told twice. With a smile and a skip he’s at the counter, leaning his chin on it as he pulls himself up and rattles of his order. It’s undeniably cute and Mark can’t fault the barista for cooing at BamBam, though he snorts when the boy frowns and shoots back a petulant. “I’m not a _kid._ I’m almost nine.”

The girl seems ready to point out that that is, in fact, the definition of being a kid, but Jackson shoots forward with a disarming smile, one hand on BamBam’s shoulder.

“Add an orange juice to that order, and a cherry waffle,” then he turns to Mark, “and you want…?”

Flustered beyond belief, because Mark was still hung up on his previous slip-up, he flounders as he quickly eyes the menu. He hadn’t expected Jackson to _actually_ order anything for him. The other catches on to his unease.

“Coffee, maybe?” He tries, but Mark quickly shakes his head. _Ew, no._

“Orange juice,” he copies because it’s easy and _not hot_ if BamBam is to accidentally knock it over. “And the- uh, two vanilla scoops, please.”

Jackson looks pleasantly surprised as the cashier types it all in, but BamBam pulls a face.

“Vanilla’s so _dull_ ,” he complains, then stands on his tiptoes and points at the blown-up menu hanging above the counter. “They have ice-cream milkshakes and these fruity scoop-thingies and _chocolate,”_ he looks eagerly at Mark. “You could choose _anything!”_

Jackson leaves Mark to fend for himself as he turns to the counter to pay. Traitor. This is _his_ kid. Mark shrugs at BamBam’s pouty face. “I like vanilla,” he says, fighting a grin.

BamBam huffs, crossing his arms. “Why are adults so boring?” he grouches to which Jackson laughs and ruffles BamBam’s hair. The boy squeaks.

“Because we gave all the fun to you,” Jackson grins, gently pushing BamBam to an empty table on the left, right next to one of the shop’s giant windows overlooking the park. There are evergreen trees in the distance, still green and standing tall. The rest of the vegetation is leave-less and bald, trembling arms reaching for the sky waiting for spring to roll in. Jackson ends up on one side next to window, and Mark on the other, meaning BamBam is in between them and looking at the park, while Jackson and Mark are left looking directly at each other. Before it stands to get awkward (because Mark is _working_ , no matter how much this feels like some sort of family outing he was unwittingly pulled into), BamBam starts rattling off a detailed rendition of last year when he and Jackson came here for the first time. It gives Mark enough time to pull himself together, listening with half an ear and smiling at the appropriate moments.

This is his _job_ , he’s _working_ , ice-cream or no.

(The ice-cream is good and the company even better, Jackson laughing more than Mark has ever seen at BamBam’s ridiculous school stories. Mark feels like he’s invading, like he shouldn’t be here, but BamBam keeps saying ‘right, Tuan’ or ‘do you remember, Tuan, when’ and Jackson keeps smiling at them both and Mark kind of doesn’t want them to stop.

He's infinitely grateful that for the rest of the day (when Jackson inevitably has to return to work) he and BamBam hang on the couch and play video games. After the park, he feels off-kilter in a dizzying way.

 _It’s a job._ He desperately repeats in his head, BamBam pressed into his side and shaking with giggles as they’re planted on the living room couch. _It’s all just a job.)_


End file.
